The Fearless King

by Katee Robert

  “This is my daughter’s apartment.” He smiled, as if that answered everything. To anyone who didn’t know better, it might be enough. They would look at the charm and the familial connection and think nothing of a father dropping in on his daughter after a long absence.

  Frank knew better.

  Even if Journey hadn’t asked for his help, he still knew better.

  He dropped the apologetic tone and crossed his arms over his chest. Still polite, so very polite. “You see, sir, I know for a fact that she didn’t buzz you up. As such, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. If she wants you here, she can always let you back in herself.” Over my dead body. He had no right to the protective feeling that made him want to bash this man’s face against the nearest wall to expel his rage. I would feel that way if any other woman were in danger. Journey being the injured party had nothing to do with the level of his anger.

  Nothing at all.

  Elliott seemed to weigh his odds of slamming the door in Frank’s face and must have realized that Frank would haul his ass out of that apartment, Bancroft or no, father or no. “I can reschedule.” He stepped around him and walked down the hallway as if going for a Sunday stroll.

  Frank waited until the man entered the elevator to walk into the apartment and shut and lock the door behind him. “Journey?”

  “Frank.” Her voice was so soft, he wouldn’t have heard it if the place wasn’t dead silent.

  He strode around the kitchen island and dropped to his knees next to her prone body. “Where are you hurt?” There wasn’t any obvious damage, but her sweatshirt and leggings covered the majority of her body. A well-placed punch given by Elliott could do more than break bones. There could be internal bleeding or worse. He reached for her and hesitated. “Talk to me, Duchess.”

  “I’m okay.” She pushed to a sitting position and leaned back against the cabinets, her eyes closed. “He didn’t hurt me.”

  Her choppy breathing and the sheer lack of color in her face gave lie to her words. “You and I have a different definition of hurt.” Even if Elliott didn’t get a chance to do physical damage, there had been damage done. Her trying to downplay it only pissed Frank off.

  Not about you.

  Since she showed no signs of wanting to move, he slid back to brace against the cabinets opposite her, ready to jump forward if it looked like she’d tip. “You want to talk about it?”

  “No.” Journey pressed her lips together, eyes still closed. “Could you…” A shuddering breath. “Could you, like, just talk to me about nothing important? I just need a minute.”

  A minute to remember she was safe and that the danger had passed—at least for now. Frank stretched his legs out, careful not to touch her. Questions would only put her on the spot, and talking about any plans moving forward would add more tension, so he shifted to a relatively safe topic. “I’ve been friends with Beck since we were kids. I realize you’re predisposed not to like him, but he’s one of the best men I know. A little too willing to throw himself on his sword for the people he cares about, but no one is perfect. He’s been acting a damn fool since he and Samara got together. It irritates the fuck out of him that she won’t sell her condo and move into his, but I think he secretly enjoys the push and pull when they bicker about it.” He paused, relieved to see some color working its way back into her face. “The asshole took me ring shopping with him last week.”

  That got a response.

  Her eyes flew open. “He did not. It’s only been a couple months since they got together. How the hell is he already thinking about proposing?”

  He shrugged, enjoying her disbelief. She’d forgotten about whatever just went down with her old man, at least for a few seconds. “I asked him the same thing. He told me that when you know, you just know. Which is some bullshit, but they’re happy, so who am I to judge?”

  “A good friend, that’s who.” She pushed her hair back and crossed her legs, life bleeding back into her body. “If he proposes, she’s going to say yes, and then we’re going to have to talk them into a long engagement.”

  “I’ll do my part.” He studied her. She wasn’t okay—not by a long shot—but she wasn’t in danger of passing out on him anymore. Which wasn’t to say she wasn’t in danger anymore. He’d already fired the asshole at the security desk and replaced the man with someone Frank trusted, at least for the time being, but that didn’t do anything to combat the fear he’d felt when he realized Elliott had infiltrated the building. If he felt that, he couldn’t begin to imagine what Journey had experienced. “Do you want me to stay?”

  Presumptuous? Fuck yeah. But he didn’t want her to be alone, and she’d already proven that she wasn’t willing to turn to her family for fear of dragging them down with her.

  “No.” She gave him a shaking smile. “I know this sounds dramatic, but I can’t stay here. He…contaminated it.” She pulled her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. “It feels a little like running, but since Anderson banished me from the office this weekend, I might just get out of town for the night. Somewhere…”

  Out of his reach.

  That was the problem, though. Distance wasn’t enough to put her fear to bed, and she’d spend yet another sleepless night listening for a footstep outside her door, sure that her father had tracked her down. Frank held out his hand, letting instinct drive him. “I have another option.”

  She blinked. “What option?”

  Half a dozen possibilities arose, but none of them came out of his mouth when he spoke. “Come home with me.”

  Chapter Six

  Journey should have said no. She should have dredged up a smile and a confident tone and told Frank that she was just fine and could manage on her own.

  She didn’t say no.

  Even if she left town, putting distance between herself and her father had never solved her problems. She’d spend the next thirty-six hours switching between berating herself for not being strong enough and staring at her hotel door, analyzing every sound in the hallway to determine if it was a threat.

  It made her tired just thinking about it.

  Going home with Frank wouldn’t solve anything, but even though there was nothing safe about him, she knew that he’d never let Elliott through the door.

  She sat there, trying to avoid being sick from the adrenaline letdown and fear turning her stomach toxic, and watched him move around her apartment. “What are you doing?”

  “Put your head between your knees and take nice slow breaths.”

  She obeyed instinctively, and damn it, it helped. Journey closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose as she listened to Frank walk into her bedroom. Oh well, let him snoop. Several minutes later, he was back and urging her to her feet. “Time to go, Duchess.” He gripped her elbow as if he wasn’t sure she could make it on her own, and they headed down to the street.

  “Just a minute.” She fumbled for her phone and sent a quick text to Bellamy, asking him to keep a close eye on Eliza. Her father’s threat might have been blustering, but she couldn’t bank on it. She slipped her phone into her purse. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Frank had parked his car a block down. The gray Audi R8 coupe was expensive and understated and probably had all sorts of extras under the hood. Kind of like the man himself.

  He opened the door for her. “This is the right call.”

  “Whatever you say.” Her voice came out dull and lifeless, but she didn’t know how to fix that.

  She didn’t know how to fix anything.

  Journey sat there, passive and silent, and watched the city scroll by. Victim yet again. I had a chance to fight, and all I did was collapse in a ball and wait for him to hurt me. Pathetic. Worthless. Coward.

  “Whatever you’re telling yourself, it’s wrong.”

  Journey rolled her head to face him. Frank looked just as in control as he always seemed to—his big body effortlessly fitting into the driver’s seat of his car. The only indication that his ease might be cov
ering up something was the way he gripped the steering wheel as if propelling the vehicle through sheer will. She huddled deeper into her oversized sweater. “Have you added mind reading to your impressive set of skills?”

  He shot her a look. “I don’t have to be a mind reader. It’s written all over your face. You’re replaying what just happened and mentally whipping yourself for not doing more or reacting in a different way.”

  “I was within inches of the knife block.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but once the words drifted into the air between them, she couldn’t take them back. “I know half a dozen methods of self-defense, even if I don’t keep up on practicing them like I should. I can shoot pretty decently. None of it mattered.”

  A muscle in his jaw jumped, but his voice was just as even as ever. “He showed up at your place—where you feel safe—unannounced and at an hour when you weren’t expecting anyone.” He flicked the blinker and changed lanes, taking them out of town and down toward the coast. “I’ll bet he barely waited two minutes before he danced on every trigger you have.”

  Her stomach lurched, and she pulled her knees to her chest, trying to battle down the nausea. “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve known men like him. He’s a predator and a bully, and he wouldn’t attempt to corner you when there was a chance someone else might step in.”

  If Frank hadn’t shown up when he did…She reached over blindly, and he didn’t hesitate to take her hand. He squeezed it hard, as if he knew she needed exactly that to ground her. He already sees too much, and you just keep letting him see more. It wasn’t as if she had a choice.

  No. Damn it, no.

  She had a choice, and she’d chosen him to be the one to help her out of this mess. Journey stared at their linked fingers, his dark skin against her pale. “Why were you at my place today, Frank?”

  “Because you’re dodging my damn calls.” He snorted. “For someone who said you needed my help, you have a funny way of showing it.”

  “I was busy.”

  “I don’t doubt it. But we both know that was only part of it.”

  Since he was right, she ignored that. Journey told herself to take her hand back, but she couldn’t quite translate the thought into action. “I don’t know how my father got up to my floor.” Her building was supposed to be one of the most secure in the city, and even that hadn’t deterred Elliott.

  Frank’s hand twitched in hers. “He bribed one of the security guards.”

  That got her attention. She straightened her legs and twisted to face him. “How in the hell would you know that?” Journey took her hand back, something like anger flaring to life. It warmed her in a way nothing else seemed to these days.

  Nothing but Frank.

  She pushed that thought away and focused on him. “You hacked the security feed in my building.” When he didn’t respond, her jaw dropped. “Tell me you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t hack the security feed in your building.”

  Oh, now he found his words. She poked him in the shoulder. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Tell me you didn’t buy my freaking building.”

  “It’s not a recent acquisition, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Journey sat back. “You have some brass balls, don’t you? How in the hell did you manage it? Bellamy tried when I moved in, but the owner wasn’t interested in selling. When did you manage it?” She hadn’t lived there all that long—a little over a year—and she would have known if Frank freaking Evans owned the building when she moved in.

  His hands flexed on the steering wheel. “Several months ago. The owner just needed the right incentive to agree to the deal.”

  She just bet he did. She opened her mouth to tell him he was out of line but…Damn it, he was out of line. It shouldn’t matter that he’d saved her before things got truly bad today, or that she understood his wanting to keep tabs on any King living in Houston. “It was no coincidence that you showed up when you did. You’re having me watched.”

  “Protected,” he snapped. “I’m hardly spying on you, and I only had one of my men keep track of your place after you asked for my help. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You should have asked me.”

  “You weren’t returning my calls.”

  Not much she could say to that. She glanced out the window and frowned. “Where are we going? I thought you lived in the city.”

  “I do. Most of the time.” He took an exit. “I have a place close to the office where the commute passes for reasonable and where I can work after hours during the week or take meetings.”

  “You aren’t going to take me out here to kill me and toss my body into the marshes, are you?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You have an overactive imagination.”

  “Oh, please. Give me a little credit. You might have done your research on me and Kingdom Corp, but I did the same for you.” There wasn’t as much information as she would have liked. She knew Frank grew up relatively well to do until his father was arrested for—and later convicted of—murder. The victim’s family had sued and taken the Evanses for every penny they owned. There wasn’t much record of Frank between the age of fifteen and nineteen, other than his mother dying, but he’d come into some money and apparently had an eye for investment. Within a year he’d turned a decent amount into something more. The rest, as they said, was history.

  At least that was the official story.

  The unofficial story was little more than rumors—and the reason she’d approached him in the first place. Frank Evans, who always seemed to know where to jump before the rest of the world saw the way the wind was blowing. Frank Evans, who was untouchable because key people owed him favors. Frank Evans, the dealer of information as well as property.

  When he didn’t immediately respond, she straightened. “Frank?”

  “I’m taking you home, Duchess.” He didn’t look at her, but there was tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. “And then we’re going to have a conversation.”

  Too much in that statement to fully unpack. “Why?”

  He cursed. “Because you’re scared shitless and you’re not going to be thinking straight until you feel safe again. No one knows where I live—not even Beck. Sure as fuck not your old man. You can get your feet under you again, and we’ll hit the ground running Monday.”

  “Monday?” She jerked her hand out of his grasp. “I can’t stay there until Monday. That’s two days from now.” Two nights. Journey had every intention of keeping her hands off Frank, but even as shaken up as she was right now, she didn’t like her odds of being under his roof for thirty-six hours without doing something unforgivably stupid. Especially if he really followed through on his promise to make her feel safe again. Should have insisted on my original plan of leaving town alone.

  Frank took another turn, driving them deeper into the trees that seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere. “I’ll get you back with plenty of time to make it to the office before anyone else. I have this fascinating technology called Wi-Fi, so if you need to work remotely, you’re able to. Don’t turn down a safe space just because I’m the one giving it to you.”

  He sounded so damn logical when he put it like that.

  Likely because he was being logical and he did have a point.

  Frank saved her, whether she wanted to admit it or not. He’d agreed to help her, even though he wasn’t getting nearly as much out of the deal as she was, favor to Kingdom Corp or no. He wasn’t the enemy, and treating him like one was a shitty thing to do.

  She sat back. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize to me. You’re shaken up and I’m here, so you’re striking out.” His lips twitched. “I can handle it, Duchess. Do your worst.”

  He couldn’t handle her at her worst. She wasn’t sure anyone could. That said, she appreciated the sentiment, the careful reassurance that he’d layered on over and over again. You’re
safe.

  A shudder worked its way through her body, leaving her achy and cold and feeling like she’d just been dragged behind a car for half a dozen miles. “You have a shower in this place of yours?”

  This time, Frank actually did smile. “I have five. You can take your pick.”

  He drove around a corner to reveal the house. No, house was too tame a word for the building they approached. Journey took in the overgrown-looking trees—the overgrown trees that were carefully trimmed back to prevent them from encroaching on the driveway or the house itself. The giant pillars in the front of it gave the building an almost plantation-like feel, right down to the faded paint, but the windows were clean, and she’d bet the place would pass any building inspection. “Dramatic.”

  “It keeps the door-to-door salesmen away.”

  And no one would ever look at this house and assume Frank Evans, real estate mogul, lived here.

  Journey relaxed against the seat. “I like it.” Better to focus on the house. Frank chose to bring her to it despite the fact that he apparently never brought anyone here. Easier by far than to deal with the shit show she’d just left.

  It could have been so much worse.

  Knowing that didn’t make her utter failure to act any easier to bear. When it came down to the wire, she’d crumbled instead of fought.

  Worst of all, she couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t react the exact same way if it happened again.

  * * *

  Frank ushered Journey into his house, keeping a close eye on her all the while. She seemed steadier on her feet since they’d started talking, but no one recovered from an attack that fast. And it had been an attack. Even without bruises to show for it, every bit of evidence pointed to Elliott having harmed her. Frank clenched his fists, doing his damnedest to smother the rage churning in his gut.

  He hitched her overnight bag higher on his shoulder. “This way.”

  This place wasn’t anywhere near as large as the King family home that Beck had inherited upon his old man’s death, but it had five bedrooms on the second floor—two master suites—and half a dozen other rooms on the main floor. At the bottom of the stairs, Frank motioned for her to precede him.